Uncertainty
by templeg
Summary: They come home from Uganda. Things don't work out the way Kevin anticipated. (Sequel to Of Pop Tarts And Elephants)


The first time they make love is their last night in Uganda.

Connor calls it 'making love'. Kevin calls it 'uhh, well, you know', because however many times he says the word 'fuck' he can't quite bring himself to use it in this context, until eventually he grabs Connor's hand and asks him if he wants to make love (and only stammers a little bit) and Connor beams at him and practically drags him into the bedroom by his tie.

They kiss for a long while, stripping off each other's shirts, and then they're down to pants and things sort of…stop.

'Um', Kevin says. Connor blushes from his forehead all the way down to his chest. It's a very nice chest, so nice that Kevin is distracted for a moment from the problem at hand. But there's only so much blatant ogling he can do.

'Kevin? Up here.' Kevin's head snaps up. 'I think we might have gone about this in the wrong order.'

Kevin stares blankly at him. 'Pants off first?' His hands go to his fly. Connor stops him with a hand over his.

'I _mean_…we should probably talk about…things.'

'You mean about who…' It's not that he's in denial. Connor is very much a boy, and Kevin's come to realise just how little interest he has in girls, and he's not under any sort of illusion that one role makes him any more heterosexual than the other. But for some reason he'd never even considered that he might do anything other than…pitch.

Somehow, that isn't what happens.

The eighteen-hour flight through turbulence the next day is somewhat more uncomfortable than it might otherwise have been. Kevin can't stop smiling the entire flight.

After everything, he's still too used to being listened to.

Kevin comes home to a baffled and apprehensive family. He sits them down and tells them about the Book of Arnold, about everything they've done, the people they've helped. He tells them about Nabalungi and Mafala (he thinks it's probably best not to mention the General). They listen in silence, and somehow he forgets to watch their faces as he talks.

Finally, he slows down, and there is silence. Kevin has never been good at silence, so he gets up and brings in Connor.

After _everything_, it's the boyfriend they can't handle.

There's no 'get out of my house', no talk about abominations, none of the things from the Lifetime movies Connor watches. There's a lot of head-shaking. There's his mom saying over and over that she doesn't understand, he's such a _good boy_. There's his dad, saying absolutely nothing from beginning to end.

There's Jack, staring at him like he's an alien, a stranger, and fleeing to his room when he goes near him.

His mom follows him into the kitchen when he has to get out and tells him that it'll be okay, that they'll get him _help_. She keeps touching his face. He remembers when that was comforting.

Not one of them says a single word to Connor. He just sits there, staring at his hands, which Kevin can see out of the corner of his eye are shaking. Kevin wants nothing more than to hold him, to hold on to this person he needs more than anyone right now, but the distance between them is like an impermeable magnetic force. He can't even hold his hand.

After a very, very long time, his mother puts her hand on his. He barely resists the impulse to recoil.

'Kevin, sweetie, I think your friend should leave.'

Connor stands. Kevin follows suit. He wants to leave them with something, something pithy, something _meaningful_, but he has nothing to say. He takes Connor and his unopened suitcase and leaves, and they walk for three blocks before he realises he doesn't know where they're going.

They end up in a hotel. He figures as long as his parents are waiting around for him to come home and stop being gay, he might as well spend their money. Connor absolutely will not let go of his hand, until eventually they sit down on the bed. He buries his head in Connor's shoulder, Connor stroking soothing circles into his back and making shushing noises.

'I'm not a little kid', he mumbles into his shirt.

'Yes, you are.' Connor smells of airplanes, and sweat, and _Connor_. Kevin holds onto him for dear life. 'Right now, you are. Remember how I've been through this too? Right now, you are five years old. And that's _okay_, honey. You're allowed. Be five.'

Kevin cries like a five-year-old all over Connor's shirt.

Connor wakes him early the next morning. 'Rise and shine, sleepyhead. We're gonna miss our flight.'

Kevin cracks an eye open. 'Whuh?' Connor is brandishing a printed-off plane ticket. He squints, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

SALT LAKE CITY to ORLANDO.

He stares blearily up at Connor for about three seconds, then grabs him by the collar and yanks him down on top of him, though usually he'd be less than thrilled at the thought of a second plane journey in two days. They very nearly do miss their flight, and once they collapse, panting, into their seats, and Connor, who's a bit of a nervous flier, grabs his hand for takeoff, he stares out of the window and absolutely does not tear up.

They don't get to their hotel in Orlando until late. Kevin dumps his suitcase in a corner and feels, again, like a little kid. Just two days ago he'd been practically on the other side of the planet, but he's never felt quite so far from home. He looks out the hotel window at the streets of Orlando and thinks, pathetically, that he'd give it all up to be able to just go home and sleep in his own bed.

Connor comes up behind him and puts his arms around his waist. Kevin turns and smiles at him. 'Hey…thank you, Connor…' His eyes sting and he looks away. Connor takes his face in his hand and turns him to look into his eyes.

'I…don't want you to think I'm not…'

'I know.'

'It's not…'

'Hey.' Connor cups his face in his. 'I did not do this because I thought it would make everything better. You don't have to pretend it did.'

Kevin kisses him, desperate and hungry. He has a sudden urgent need to _feel_ something, to overwhelm himself with physical stimulus and just lose himself for a while. One of Connor's hands tangles in his hair, holding him close. He touches Connor everywhere he can, running his hands over his arms, his chest.

He ends up on the bed with Connor on top of him, and Connor's touching him everywhere in a way that's half-groping and half-soothing and it's exactly the kind of overwhelming he needed. Kevin presses up against him, not knowing what he needs, just that he needs it _now_, and then Connor pins his arms to the bed and he goes limp, the tension flooding out of his body. His eyes close. Connor's lips are almost brushing his ear.

'_Fuck_ them', he hisses. Kevin still isn't used to hearing him swear. His breath is hot against Kevin's ear and he squirms a little under him, shifting his hips. '_Fuck_ God for saying we can't, that we have to hold it in.' His lips move down Kevin's neck, dipping into the hollow of his collarbone. 'I don't give a fuck if God is watching. We are the only thing that matters.'

He can't seem to stop himself from moving as Connor undoes the buttons of his shirt, whimpering every time fingers brush against his skin and pushing up to meet them. Connor pulls his shirt off and presses him down into the bed, splaying a hand over his upper arm to hold him in place. He wants to cry out at the relief of being _held down_, of the pressure that stops him from writhing and thrashing his way to exhaustion, but he can't quite suppress the traitorous urge to fight back. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots one of Connor's ties slung over a chair.

'Connor', he whispers, and Connor's head jerks up.

'What is it? What do you need, sweetie?'

He licks his lips, trying to make himself speak. 'Can you…your tie…' It's harder than he thought to get the words out. Connor follows his gaze and his eyes widen.

'Are you sure?'

He nods, closing his eyes. Connor's weight vanishes and he almost whimpers at the loss, but he lies still in his absence, anticipating the freedom of restraint, his muscles already aching with relief. When he feels the fabric wrap around his wrists he can't stop himself from breathing out, a long, slow exhale.

'Kevin, sweetie, I need you to open your eyes, okay? Look at me.' Connor's thumb is stroking his wrist, just underneath the silk of the tie. He focuses on meeting his eyes, making them his centre. 'Do you want me to tie your wrists to the headboard?'

Kevin whimpers and nods. His hands are above his head, so he can't see Connor tying the knot, but he feels the cloth go tight around his wrists and it feels so freeing it's like he's floating on air. Connor ties him to the head of the bed and he can't help but test it a little, arching his back as he pulls. The knot doesn't budge. Kevin's eyes flutter closed.

'Shhh.' Connor's fingers are in his hair, soothing. His other hand strokes Kevin's waist. 'Shh, baby. It's okay.' A small, muffled voice at the back of his mind wants to complain, to insist that he's not a child. And then Connor's hand slips from his waist into the front of his underwear and Kevin forgets any complaints he might have had. Connor's hand around his cock moves steadily, not teasing, not going too fast, and it's so _good_, such an easy target to focus on. It's almost effortless, the way his mind becomes nothing but _yes_ and _oh god _and _please. _

Connor gets the fly of his pants open and Kevin raises his hips, allowing him to pull them down his legs. He feels him place little butterfly kisses against his hips and the tops of his thighs, and raises his head off the pillow. Connor meets his eyes. His fingers brush the waistband of Kevin's underwear (not-Mormon and newly purchased).

'Can I…'

'_Please'_, he gets out. His head thuds back onto the pillow. Connor pulls his underwear over his hips and then his mouth sinks down around his cock and Kevin lets out a moan that the entire floor must hear. He slaps a hand over his mouth and Connor pulls off, smirking.

'Sweetie, you're going to have to be a bit quieter than that. Can you do that for me?'

Kevin nods frantically, and when Connor resumes what he was doing he manages to keep almost completely silent, except for a sharp exhale of breath. His hips rock involuntarily and Connor's fingers press firmly into his hipbones, holding him against the bed. He's pinned down, held in place while Connor does what he likes to him. Connor takes him deeper into his mouth and he _thinks _his whimper is a non-embarrassing volume but he really can't tell. Connor's nails scrape against his hip and the knot of the tie digs into his wrist as he comes, back arching as Connor holds his hips steady.

Connor pulls off, breathing hard. He unties Kevin's wrists, and as soon as his hands are free Kevin kisses him frantically, slipping a hand into his underwear and jerking him off hard and fast. Connor's hands are in his hair and he comes over Kevin's fist moments later. His grip tightens, tugging hard at the roots. Kevin never thought he'd like that, the thought had never crossed his mind, but it makes something spark again in his stomach. Connor's breath is hot on his lips. They stay, foreheads pressed against each other, for a few moments, and then Connor lets out a little sigh and kisses his jaw, the side of his neck, his shoulder, and then just rests his head there, tucked against Kevin's neck.

Kevin never knows what to say immediately after sex, but for once, he doesn't feel the need to say anything. His eyes are heavy, and he can hear Connor's steady breathing against his neck, and he doesn't really want to move.

He wakes a few hours later, disoriented and still loose-limbed. Connor is lying next to him, hair rumpled.

'Hi.'

'Hey.' He's managed to tangle himself in the sheet. He wiggles out of it and kicks it away. Connor's eyes go wide and he reaches out a hand to touch Kevin's hip. Kevin looks down. A bruise is forming just below his hipbone, yellowish-green and about the size of a thumbprint. He stares down at the mark, evidence of where Connor held him down, and swallows. He can almost feel Connor's hand still on him, pinning him in place.

'Oh, god, Kevin, I'm so sorry', Connor says in a rush. He brushes his fingertips over the bruise. It barely even hurts, but he jerks his fingers away. Kevin grabs his hand.

'It's, um. I don't mind.'

Connor's eyes are filled with apprehension. 'You don't have to say that-'

'Connor', Kevin says firmly. '_I don't mind._' He clears his throat. 'I really, uh. Don't mind.'

Connor looks from the bruise to his face, confused and uncomprehending. 'I- _oh_. Is that…are you…' He smiles, and his fingers brush again over the bruise. Kevin shivers. 'Okay.'

He pulls Connor in for a kiss, and Connor's hand slips into his hair. Kevin doesn't know where they go from here, or what he wants to do. But he has time to think about that, time that isn't now. For now, he can live with a little uncertainty.


End file.
